


all my life there you go

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Detroit Red Wings, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, No Plot/Plotless, Reunions, Team Sweden, Tre Kronor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It hits her like a lightning bolt in the chest.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my life there you go

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/profile)[**annabeth**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/) for looking this over. Any remaining mistakes or plot holes are my own fault.
> 
> Title from “Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second,” by Starfucker.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Perra sees him, sees the flash of his hand as he spoons some food into his mouth, the curving line of his back to her, and she immediately knows. It hits her like a lightning bolt in the chest.

She’d know him anywhere, anyplace. For a moment, the briefest of moments, she’s transported back to Limhamn, to tiny, jam-packed arenas with big sheets of unblemished ice. To Gurra on her wing, passing her the puck with a surgeon’s precision.

“Gurra!”

She watches him from the cafeteria entrance. He looks around, searching, his brow furrowing. Perra is certain no one has called him by that name since her. Since they were inseparable linemates in Limhamn. 

She calls out to him again, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Gurra. Behind you.”

He swivels in his seat and he sees her then, by the entrance. A smile blooms slowly on his open, friendly face as recognition flashes in his eyes, followed by pleasure.

Perra waves to him as she approaches and he gets up to greet her, pushing his lunch tray aside. Gurra meets her midway and grabs her in a big hug, big enough that her feet leave the ground.

“Perra!” He sets her back down and presses his cheek against her shoulder, hands squeezing on her back. “It’s been too long.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Perra has to stand on her toes to hug him back. She isn’t used to Gurra being this much taller than she is. When they were kids playing on the same team, Perra had the height advantage on him, along with everything else.

Gurra pulls back and smiles at her, his eyes lighting up. “You’ve grown up. You’re not the little girl I remember.”

She smiles back, laughing, as she reaches back to twist her hair under her knit cap. “You thought time would stop for us?” she teases, resting her mittened hands over his arms.

“When I was a kid, I sure did,” he admits, still smiling, though it’s tempered a bit now.

“I’ve been keeping up with your exploits,” Perra says. She laughs and pokes at Gurra in the chest when he flushes modestly and tries to hide his face from her. “Second star of the week! I’d like to think I taught you a few things.”

“I got my moves from you,” he deadpans, lifting his head and grinning at her.

“Don’t you forget it.” Perra wraps her hands around his. “How is life treating you? Outside of hockey, I mean.”

“Life is... life is good. It couldn’t be better,” Gurra says, the corners of his mouth curving up. “What about you?”

“I could say the same thing,” she says, laughing a little. “Look at how boring we’ve become.”

Gurra squeezes her hands, his bright blue eyes flickering with something like regret. “I’ve gotta go, Perra. I’m sorry. But we should do this again, later. We need to catch up, have a real conversation,” he says.

“Same time tomorrow?” she suggests, smiling at him.

Gurra tightens his hands around hers before letting go. “You’ve got it.” He turns, taking one last glance over his shoulder at her, before winding through the crowd for the exit.

-

The next day, he’s exactly where he said he’d be, waiting for her at an empty cafeteria table. He has his cell phone out, fingers flying over a touchscreen, and Perra waits until he’s done texting before she approaches him.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” he teases her, setting his phone down.

“You thought I’d stand you up?” She slides in across from him and puts down her lunch tray.

“I figured you’d have better things to do, people to see,” he says, smiling and winking at her.

“I’m sure that’s more true of you than me,” Perra says, picking up plastic-wrapped utensils.

“So,” he says, as Perra rips apart the plastic wrapper and frees a fork, “tell me a bit about what your life’s been like. How’s your family? Are you seeing anyone? How are you liking Sochi?”

Perra laughs, mind reeling as she picks Gurra’s questions apart like strands of tangled thread. “Well, for starters, my family is doing great. Dad’s finally retired, and he and Mom are coming to visit me while we’re here in Sochi. As for your second question, I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t have enough time to devote myself to anything but hockey,” she says, pushing some shiny green peas around on her plate with her fork. “What about you? Are _you_ seeing anyone?”

Gurra offers her a shy smile, which doesn’t quite fit the boy she remembers from her childhood. He was always gregarious, as far as Perra can recall. “I date around. Nothing serious,” he explains. His soft tone makes it sound like an apology.

“You were always a player,” Perra says, shaking her head. “All the girls loved you.”

“ _All_ the girls? Well, I don’t know about that,” Gurra says, the apples of his cheeks reddening modestly. 

“You don’t have to pretend to be modest around me,” she says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Gurra laughs, the flush on his cheeks subsiding. “I trust that you won’t.”

After they finish lunch and ready themselves to find their respective teams, Gurra reaches out and catches Perra by the hand as she’s about to leave. The contact is unexpected, though not unwelcome, and Perra responds by curling her fingers around his.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks her, sounding hopeful, a slight uptick in his voice at the end.

Perra smiles at him and squeezes on his hand. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

-

Perra spends her final day in Sochi with Gurra, taking touristy pictures of the Olympic Village and drinking in all the sights and sounds. This might be the last time she’ll be able to do this with her old friend, especially if the NHL has its way. Gurra tells her Bettman and the owners don’t want to send them to PyeongChang in four years, citing travel and having to shut the league down for another two weeks.

She’s certain she’ll see him again some other time, maybe when they’re both back home in Sweden, but this is special. Everything about Sochi feels magical, even as the sting of losing to Switzerland lingers on. 

Gurra and the men’s team didn’t win gold; he’s been quiet, sort of sullen on their tour through the Olympic Village, and Perra’s given up trying to cheer him. She’ll let him brood. She knows how it goes, as well as anyone.

They walk together, side by side, talking about _life after Sochi_ , like it’s an epoch in history, their history.

Gurra leans into Perra, just a little bit of weight, and it’s comforting. She thinks she’ll miss it once it’s gone. 

“I think I’ll come back to Malmö in the summer,” he says, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his sweats. His red hair is completely hidden under a black knit cap, and he has his head down. Gurra steps over a crack in the pavement; Perra tramples on it.

“Maybe if I can find some time, I’ll come see you,” Perra says. The two of them pause in front of a colorful sculpture of the Olympic rings and she brings out her camera, snapping a few shots.

“Here, get in front of the statue. I’ll take one of you,” Gurra says, smiling and reaching for the camera strap.

Perra laughs, tucks the camera in his hand, and climbs up on one of the rings. She spreads her arms out above her head, as if she’s reaching for the sky, and puts on a big, bright smile. Gurra snaps a couple shots and inspects them in the camera’s digital display, before handing the camera back to Perra.

“Now, your turn,” she says, shooing him to the sculpture.

“You don’t need my ugly mug all over your—” Gurra starts, but she shuts him up with a glare, one she used often on him when they were kids and fell into disagreements from time to time. The disagreements didn’t happen often, though, because they were usually so in sync on the ice, and Gurra knew better than to fight her.

He complies easily, like she figured he would, and goes to stand in front of the sculpture, tugging off his cap and pocketing it. He leans casually back against one of the rings and the sunlight hits him at just the right angle. Perra takes a couple shots of him like that, head thrown back, looking for all the world like he owns this place.

Perra lowers her camera and smiles at him. Gurra smiles back, eyes crinkling in the corners, his red-blond hair falling in his eyes. 

Gurra pushes away from the sculpture and comes to look at the pictures she took. The wind is brisk and chilly, and it numbs her cheeks, but Gurra is leaning against her and he’s warm. She turns toward it, toward him, and he turns toward her. The two of them stand there, heads together, scrolling through the photos on her camera.

He’s close enough that Perra could close the distance between them and kiss him, if she stood on her toes. She’d been so much taller than him when they were kids, and it kind of burns her up a little bit that he had to go and grow up while they were apart. There are so many years unaccounted for, so many years he spent away from her, learning things, learning other people.

Gurra points at the camera display and says something that she only pays partial attention to. He says it again, and she only catches the tail end of it, something about an email address.

“What? I’m sorry, I was distracted,” she apologizes, offering him a tiny embarrassed smile.

Gurra smiles back. “I was just wondering if I could have your email, for the pictures,” he says.

“Sure, of course.” Perra laughs.

He leans away from her and snaps another quick shot of her, laughing as he does so. He then lifts his arm overhead and snaps one of himself. “To remember me by,” he says, teasingly.

Perra rolls her eyes and grabs the camera back from him. “You’re hard to forget.”

“Good,” he says, looping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad. You too.” He gives her shoulders a squeeze and presses his cheek against the top of her head for a moment.

They stay there for a while yet, watching the statue and the shadows that play off of it as the sun sets. It’ll be time for her to go soon, to say goodbye. Perra stares at the shadows and wishes she had just a little more time with her old friend.

Gurra is quiet next to her, arm still wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and she wonders if he’s trying to will the sun back up too, if he’s wishing for more time.

Finally, he slips his arm away from her and looks down. “I’ve got to go. I’ll, uh... Here, let me give you my number and email. We can get together in the summer,” he says, pulling a pen out of his pocket. Gurra scribbles on a scrap of paper and folds it, tucking it in her hand.

“Okay,” she says, sticking it in her pocket. Perra looks at him again, and he meets her gaze. “Good luck, Gurra.”

He smiles, a flash of straight, bright white teeth. “You too, Perra,” he says. He leans in, giving her a quick hug, hands clasping on her back, before pulling away.

Perra watches him walk away, watches his back as he grows more and more distant, and then he’s swallowed up by the crowd.

She holds her camera to her chest and heads back to the village.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
